The woman at reception told me she liked my Twitter
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At the barre class I just joined, the lovely woman at the reception desk told me she enjoyed my Twitter account, as she entered my details into the system. It's a sort of peculiar modern thing to be liked for the things you type in 140-character chunks, but mostly I've learned to roll with it. The alternative would be much worse: a world in which strangers told me they hated me for the things I wrote on the internet. (I'm sure those people exist, but luckily they must be shy and retiring in real life, as I have never met one of them.) I say I've learned to roll with it, but that is only half the story. It will always be weird when people recognise my name. I don't believe there is a writer on earth for whom recognition on some level is not a desired outcome. I talk a lot, I'm a show-off, and praise the lord, the internet is happy to accommodate these things.
The woman at reception told me she liked my Twitter
The woman at reception told me she liked my…
The woman at reception told me she liked my Twitter
At the barre class I just joined, the lovely woman at the reception desk told me she enjoyed my Twitter account, as she entered my details into the system. It's a sort of peculiar modern thing to be liked for the things you type in 140-character chunks, but mostly I've learned to roll with it. The alternative would be much worse: a world in which strangers told me they hated me for the things I wrote on the internet. (I'm sure those people exist, but luckily they must be shy and retiring in real life, as I have never met one of them.) I say I've learned to roll with it, but that is only half the story. It will always be weird when people recognise my name. I don't believe there is a writer on earth for whom recognition on some level is not a desired outcome. I talk a lot, I'm a show-off, and praise the lord, the internet is happy to accommodate these things.